jAILED: the Unlikely Rescue Story of Draco Malfoy
by Meredith Trainor
Summary: Originally meant as a OneShot, this is Drarry slash, yaoi, etc. Set postwar with changes to Deathly Hallows, and Harry working at the Ministry. Depressed!Draco and Hero!Harry. I suck at writing summaries, so just read it.
1. HPDM

_**Jailed: The Unlikely Rescue Story of Draco Malfoy**_

_Summary: Harry is sent on a typical message delivery one day, when he makes a shocking discovery—Draco is kept prisoner under horrific conditions. So Harry makes it his business to rescue him from the system that Harry works for._

_A/Note: This is SLASH, yaoi, gay pride, whatever you call it. I call it love. Flames will be used to make coffee for our favorite caffeine addicts.

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**CHAPTER ONE**

"Harry?" Harry looked up from his desk, where he was thumbing through a collection of old Daily Prophets, staring at the photos he never thought he'd keep after all these years. "Death Eater Captured, Presumed Sent to Askaban" "Draco Malfoy Through the Years" "The Infamous Son of Death Eater Malfoy Caught at Last" "Interview with Harry Potter, Head of Auror Dept, Refuses to Comment". How could he comment? No one told him anything. If there was one thing he resented about the new Ministry, it was all the smoke and mirrors. He was assured the secrecy was for his own good, but his basic instinct had problems with this. And so, he waited, until one day…

"Harry!"

"Oh, sorry sir. What can I help with?"

"Oh, nothing major, my son, just run this memo down to the 3rd floor, please?"

"Department of Mysteries? Of course."

"Thanks, and then you can take lunch. I'll be off in fifteen, let's do lunch."

"Sure, thanks Mr. Weasley."

"That's my boy, the café around the corner."

And Harry ran off to the lift, the memo in his hand. And, being curious as he often was, he decided to read it. So carefully, cautiously, he slid a finger under the seal and broke it.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the memo, and read it.

_To whom it may concern:_

_It has been brought to my attention that the interrogation processes involving D.E. 17 have failed. This is unacceptable. I am ordering, with the permission of the Minister, that the interrogations reach the maximum level as ordained in Merlin's Code 287.6, under light restrictions. The results you have obtained so far are worthless, and information must be gained within the next month._

_Cordially,_

_FSP._

Harry counted fingers in his head.

D.E. was obviously Death Eater, and Merlin's Code 280 mentioned nothing about prisoners. In fact, it dealt with misuse of magical creatures: how much violence was acceptable for bending them to human will. And 7.6 dealt with

"Dragons" Harry spoke aloud in the empty lift.

Who was number 17??? The one so hated that they would treat him as a beast, a Dark creature, above all? Precautions like this were worse than in Azkaban prison! Suddenly, Harry was dreading this "harmless" job Mr. Weasley had assigned him. The lift arrived at Floor 3, and Harry took a few steps forward.

What he saw was a long hallway, not dissimilar to that of a medical hospital. What he heard nearly sent him reeling.

Sounds of human pain, screams, gasps, choking, ragged breaths.

All from one room: the rest of the occupants seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Harry abandoned the job and went to investigate.

All the rooms had code names on them: Avery was Verdad, Boil was probably Goyle, the Ministry had little originality when picking names. Often they just used the room numbers. There were 23 rooms on the hall.

One room, the furthest from the lift, was emitting the horrible sounds that chilled Harry's ears.

And just as he reached it, like the door in his dreams during his fifth year, something happened.

The sounds stopped. Rather, he stopped hearing them. It was as if a radio switch had been turned off.

"Harry Potter? What are you doing here?" An unfamiliar voice caught him.

"Uh…" for a moment he forgot. "I'm delivering a message from the Minister." He held out the memo. "And you are?"

"Oh, permit me. I'm Dan. Dan Shroeder." And Harry knew it was a nickname: no one in this department used their real name.

"Okay, thanks Dan."

"Of course. Off you go, Harry." Why did everyone talk to him like he was an underfoot child?

"Dan, a question if you don't mind." The Unspeakable looked up from reading the memo.

"Sure, Harry. Anything for the Chosen One."

"Right. Who's in the room at the end of the corridor?"

"No one, my boy! Why do you ask?"

Harry didn't know what to say, so he played it off.

"Oh, nothing, I just thought I might inquire about some of the inhabitants. Personal business, you know."

"I do know. Everyone knows how many of them you killed in the Battle of Hogwarts." Dan was beaming.

"Uh, yea. Thanks, Dan. Good work."

"Yes sir, Mr. Potter." And the Unspeakable was handing him a chart of all the prisoners the Ministry housed on his floor.

Harry pocketed it and set off for the exit.

But as he entered the lift he took it out again and looked straight at number 17.

It was the one name he never wanted to see again… or did he?

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Okay, everybody knows what name it is, but next time will be a better cliffhanger. If there is a next time! Reviews bring this fic back from the dead!


	2. DMHP

**CHAPTER TWO**

Harry barely made it to the café on time, Mr. Weasley was already seated and sipping a tea when he ran in.

"Hello, Harry!"

"Sorry, sir, I stopped to chat with the Unspeakable."

Mr. Weasley laughed.

"Chatting with an Unspeakable—my boy, you delight in doing the impossible, don't you?"

"I suppose so."

"That aside, what will you be having?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe just a baguette."

"Just some bread? My wife would never allow it, Harry! Why don't you get the soup, the cream of broccoli is very good here."

"As you say, sir."

The waitress, a young redhead named Tracy, came to take Harry's drink order. He got water, but Mr. Weasley insisted he have tea.

"All right, cutie. I'll have that brewed in three snaps." And with a pat on Harry's shoulder, she strutted away.

"So Harry, now that we're away from the office, I don't feel bad asking you: when's the wedding?"

"Wedding?"

"Now, now, son! You and my Ginny have dated for nearly two months. Surely you've asked her, but she hasn't brought home a ring."

"No, actually, I've been really busy."

"Busy? Oh I see."

"No, Mr. Weasley, I do love Ginny, and I will ask her. I just think, now that the war's over, I can afford a few months to enjoy life."

"Before the ball-and-chain marriage, I see." Mr. Weasley clapped him on the shoulder, and Harry forced a laugh.

The rest of the lunch, Harry made polite conversation with the man who ran his life, and was thoroughly miserable.

That night, after an uneventful day at the office, he found himself lying on the couch, fingering the list of death eaters. And the one name that bored into his eyes…

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy.

The more he stared at it, the more it flowed together, until finally he shouted it aloud.

"DRACO MALFOY." The name had class.

He was sure Draco was there, in Room 17.

What was the Ministry keeping from him?

So, sliding on his sneakers and pocketing the list again, he set off to find out for himself.


	3. YaoiLove

**CHAPTER THREE**

A/Note: This fic was SO much fun to write, I hope everyone enjoys it! Be sure to read the bottom and vote, that's how I'll write chapter four... so vote well, because this is a crucial turning point for the fic! Bon soir, dear readers.

PS: This chapter is DRACO'S p-o-v.

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It all hurt too much to describe.

The pain was physical, but no torture had been inflicted.

No, why would they have to curse him when they already knew his secret?

All he could see was one face, a face he hated and adored.

A face that was both pleasure and pain;

A face that hated him with all its might:

Harry's face.

He knew every dimension, every angle of that angelic face, bent on destroying Draco. He didn't know how, but through some complex Legilimency, they had bent it into his skull.

Harry smiling down as Draco screamed in pain.

Harry laughing as Draco called for him.

Harry shuddering with disgust when Draco reached out for him.

Harry… Harry… Harry…

Harry Potter filled his every waking moment.

Some were real memories, horribly contorted.

That time in their first year, when he first met Harry and wanted to be friends. In the new memory, Harry sneered at him and spat in his face, and Draco crumpled to the floor.

Second year, Draco had threatened Harry's friend, the Mudblood, and in the new memory, Harry slapped his face. Draco cried out, apologized countless times, but Harry stood still, a grin fixed on his face.

Third year, Draco had taunted Harry in class, and on the Quidditch field. In the new memory, Harry cast a Cruciatus spell that hit Draco straight in the heart. He blacked out, and the swarm of laughing faces was transfixed to one dark-haired, green-eyed head.

Fourth year, Draco had made those stupid badges "Potter stinks." How immature of him, stupid, stupid. In the new memory, Harry slowly, repeatedly shook his head as Draco fell to the floor, buried in those hated badges.

Fifth year, when Harry was suffering so much, of course the stupid fifteen-year-old Draco had to choose THAT year to betray Harry about that gang Harry was forming, all because Draco felt left out. In the new memory, Harry stood over a crumpled Draco and whispered fierce reprimands. Strangely, this was the only "memory" Draco could bare, because he got to hear Harry's voice, and his own, repeating "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry" in a never-ending chorus.

Sixth year, Harry had gone off to fight Voldemort with the redhead and the mudblood, and the memory was of his becoming a Death Eater, only Harry was there, kneeling over him, scraping at the Mark with disdain. Draco pleaded with him every time. Nothing happened, of course.

And so, with each passing day, hour, minute, second, longer than the last, the seconds of Draco's life ticked away as he did not reveal anything new to his interrogators. What was the point, anyway? They could not give him what he wanted, and he would never cease to be tortured, even if they did release him.

Tortured endlessly by the knowledge that Harry would never be his, and he might as well die.

(And now we leave Draco on the floor for a moment, to return to Harry's Point of View)

Heading past the Welcome Desk, Harry wished he'd brought some Polyjuice Potion, or the Invisibility Cloak. Even Disillusioned, he stuck out like a real Golden Boy. People stopped working for a second when he turned past their station, like they were expecting him to show up. He tensed, and began to run for the lift. He slid in behind an elderly old witch wearing a Magical Maintenance vest, who was luckily headed for the very floor he wanted. Apparently they chose deaf people to clean the floor filled with shrieks and moaning that Harry had earlier heard. For he was determined that he HAD heard them, and that Dan used a wordless "Muffliato" earlier. The questions concerning that floor were too much to bear. Questions that had him running back to the Ministry at close to 2 AM on a Thursday morning.

He held his breath as he slid out of the lift behind the elderly witch, and even secretly helped her get the cart out, full of cleaning supplies. She began washing down the lift window, and Harry set off for Room 17, still holding his breath. He wondered why all was silent. Muffled snores, a few yawns, and one or two curse words were all he heard. Then, as though a charm had lifted, there was the moaning again. Not ghostly, or even human. It sounded as though some animal was being tortured, and Harry, ever the hero, quickened his pace in its direction. He had no idea what he'd do when and if he reached it.

"Alohomora" didn't work, but a foot in the door did. So often wizards overlooked brute strength in favor of magical defenses. He seemed to have awoken the inhabitant, because as he stood there, beside the open door, looking over his shoulder for a guard that was sure to be there, all noise stopped. Silence eerier than any scream reigned on the forbidden floor. And Harry was afraid to turn around, afraid of what he'd see.

So finally, with every ounce of courage the Lion possessed, he turned on his heels and brought his gaze to the prisoner of the cell.

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OK, I'll take a poll: Who's Point of View should the next chapter be? _

_Type A for Harry_

_Type B for Draco_


	4. Hope

**CHAPTER FOUR** (The votes are in! Draco's POV)

A/Note: I Love with a capital L writing Draco's POV. So I need your reviews to tell me if I'm any good! .

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I raised my eyes to the spirit in the room, for a spirit it must be. Another torment, conjured to bring me to my knees in horror and guilt.

So why did this spirit look kind, almost… compassionate?

I couldn't believe my eyes, especially as they were clouded with tears.

Then he spoke, something he had never done in any of the dreams.

"Draco."

Somehow, at the sound of my name, something in me snapped, and months of pain and longing and guilt hurtled through my lips like a slingshot.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry for what an arsehole I was, I'm sorry for never telling you how I really thought of you. I'm sorry that I'm not good enough, and I'm sorry I'm a Slytherin!" I couldn't control the flow of apologies.

He looked taken aback, and the look startled me. In my dreams he was always powerful, in control.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as he slowly stepped towards me.

And I crumpled back to the floor. Now I would get it. This wasn't happening, I really was going crazy, after all, insanity ran in my family. My mind was breaking, and giving me a taste of what I so desperately wanted: Forgiveness.

"Forgive me, Harry."

He was at my side now, and kneeling over me. He raised a finger to my lips, and draped his other arm across my weary shoulder. I cried a few more tears, afraid I would run out before this was all over. He whispered in my ear with a broken voice, "You don't apologize, I do." And I blankly nodded, just wishing he could keep talking, and erase the past. But what he said next wasn't a whisper, and the voice that was cracked was now firm, resolute.

"We're going to get you out of here." I blindly stared up at him, hoping against hope that he wasn't an apparition.

"Draco, listen to me." He lifted my head in his hands, and pushed away my unkempt bangs. "I'm going to get you out of here. Tomorrow." I shook my head. "Not true, not real." It was too much. I was afraid I would pass out and miss the end of this… dream?

"Draco!" His voice was urgent, but not cruel. "Listen!" I opened my eyes, determined to see his face again. He continued, "Tomorrow I'm going to make an excuse to come here, disguised. I'll let you know it's me, because…" He searched around the cell, looking for ideas… "I'll ask you for this." He pulled his hand out of his pocket and handed Draco a stamp. "Once it's safe, you can come with me, and… I don't care, we'll leave. I won't let them get you." He squeezed Draco's hand, and as the blonde relaxed into his arms, unfamiliar tears slipped from the green eyes of the Lion.

"Tomorrow" was the last word Draco heard before he entered an untroubled sleep, in the arms of the one he cared for. And as Harry lay there on the prison floor, rocking his enemy to sleep, he began to reconsider his life, and everything he knew. Why had he just promised his future to a fugitive? He fought with his subconscious self.

_I can't do this; it's madness!_

**But look at him, there. Does he look evil?**

_No, but… I can't give up my job._

**Draco needs you!**

_He doesn't need me. He never needed me._

**Look at him! Try and leave him, and see what happens. I dare you.**

Hesitantly, Harry pulled a hand from Draco's grasp.

The blonde uttered a pathetic cry, and slumped forward, desolate.

**See? What did I tell you? You ARE needed.**

_Fine. I'll help him. But it doesn't mean I'm like, in LOVE with him._

**Oh, you are. Just wait and see.**

And finally, in the middle of the night, Harry left Draco lying on the floor, with a stamp in his pocket and a smile on his face, strange to the tears on his shirt, which were both _his_ and those of the _Lion_. There was hope.

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A/Note: Bwahahahaha, rate and review, or I'll feed Harry to the H/Hr shippers.

Harry: NOOOOOOOO!


	5. Rescue Begins

**CHAPTER FIVE**

A/Note: Oh how it's been so long, sorry bout that! Been terribly busy, but now I have a bit more time on my hands.

Harry tossed and turned in his sleep, the first nightmare since the end of the War. He dreamed a white room, where he couldn't move, couldn't even blink. A hideous smile, curling at the mouth, telling him just to sit still, and it would all be over soon. A jolt of electricity---He screamed.

When he awoke he was drenched in sweat, and his scar was burning. It hurt so much more now that it was fresh, after ceasing to bother him for five years. It ripped at his flesh, and he stumbled out of bed, looking for something to distract him. Desperate for a drink of water, he entered the bathroom, and saw with amazement… he looked just as he did five years ago. A seventeen-year-old Harry James Potter stared back at him in awe. Rubbing his eyes, he turned off the water faucet and pulled back the dark hair on his forehead. He saw the fire in his skin, and marveled through the pain. Why was it hurting? Voldemort had died.

"He's dead. Voldemort's dead!" He said out loud, in a hoarse voice. It pleased him to hear it. He left the bathroom, and walked down the hall to the small kitchen, and saw that it was barely three in the morning. His thoughts wandered to Draco. How was he faring? Had he slept? Was he in pain? He pushed those thoughts to the back corner of his mind. They would not help him. Now, he had to work. He had less than three hours with which to work.

Think like Hermione, Think like Hermione…

The midmorning watchman was a young Unspeakable named Drew. Funny how all the Unspeakables were D's this year. Last year they'd been E's, and next year they'd be F's. Drew had long since forgotten his real name, and in any case, he no longer needed it. He had a job to do, and it was the most fulfilling one he could ever achieve. Today, there was to be an execution. One of the D.E's had failed to give any more information, and expense could not be spared to keep him alive. It was Drew's job to oversee the process, to make sure it happened in absolute secrecy. Of course, he would not be the one to actually fire the Avada Kedavra spell, no, that Unspeakable would come later in the morning. He did not know which one of his colleagues had been assigned this job, and it was best that he know nothing but his own duty. That duty was to sit at his post and watch the magically-enhanced screens, watch the screens, watch the---.

He knew no more.

Harry knew he had to act quickly. There was no way of telling when the next Unspeakable would arrive for duty, so he had to move fast. He stripped down this Unspeakable mercilessly, and dressed him again in his own clothes. Next, he plucked three hairs from his unconscious head and opened the flask tied around his neck. As he inserted the hairs, the bubbling liquid turned neon green. He drank it, and to his amazement, it had no taste whatsoever. Trying not to be distracted, he finished dressing and picked up the unconscious head once more. This time he drew his wand across the forehead, from temple to temple, and murmured, "Sacarmiyonus". Thank Merlin, it worked, and a thin sliver of silver thread wound its way from the Unspeakable's cranium. Harry took hold of the thread—of the memories—and placed it gently inside his own. With a shock he recollected the new memory; Draco Malfoy was to be executed in less than five minutes.


End file.
